


Insult to Injury

by penguinparity



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penguinparity/pseuds/penguinparity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles might be his salvation or his damnation, but Derek knows one thing for sure.  He’s already paved enough of the road to hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will eventually become either Mature or Explicit. I'll update ratings and warnings with each new chapter.
> 
> "To regret one's own experiences is to arrest one's own development. To deny one's own experiences is to put a lie into the lips of one's life. It is no less than a denial of the soul."
> 
> ~ Oscar Wilde, De Profundis

There is a vast difference between not wanting something and thinking you don’t deserve it.  For many years, it was distinction Derek had refused to acknowledge.  Laura had forced him into enough therapy sessions in the years after the fire that Derek had learned the vocabulary to describe his own self-loathing.  But much like wanting and deserving; there is a vast difference between knowing your own flaws and coming to terms with them.

More than one therapist had told Derek he had a tendency towards self-sabotage.  He wanted things that would hurt him.  It was easier to desire someone who could never love you because there was no possibility of having to trust them.  Even if Derek recognized on some intellectual level that this might be true, he still thought it was bullshit.  Trusting people just wasn’t worth the risk.

Derek just thought his tendency towards self-sabotage helped explain his interest in Stiles.  The boy was too young, too innocent.  Not to mention, so very obviously in love with one of his classmates.  Yet no one else made Derek’s pulse quicken.  Sometimes it made Derek feel like a monster.  If he ruined Stiles, he’d be just like the monster that had ruined him.  Derek was self-aware enough to recognize that he liked Stiles because he was _safe_.  Not that Stiles himself was safe, not by a long shot.  But Derek’s desire for him was safe.  He was someone that Derek knew he’d never pursue and the reasons for his inaction allowed Derek to wallow in his self-loathing.

It was bad enough for Derek when he’d only had to contend with Stiles’ oral fixation.  Watching Stiles lick and chew on straws, his fingers, even his lips.  There had been the truly traumatic night he’d tried to talk to Scott and Stiles about the coming Alpha pack while Stiles had _devoured_ a lollipop.  Derek had spent more than a few nights hating himself as he got off to the thought of Stiles’ mouth.

Derek was pretty sure the boy had no idea what he was doing.  Stiles’ scent never changed when Derek caught him sucking or chewing on something; nor did his heartbeat.  The lack of reaction in others when Stiles engaged in such behavior also suggested it wasn’t that rare of an occurrence.

Scott had taken the news of a coming Alpha pack about as well as expected.  He’d frowned mulishly and told Derek to leave them alone.  According to Scott, the Alpha pack couldn’t possibly be interested in him and if they were, he’d figure out how to handle it on his own.  The look on Stiles’ face had suggested he disagreed, but he’d remained uncharacteristically silent as he’d wrapped his tongue around his lollipop and sucked it slowly back into his mouth.  If Derek had growled more than necessary while they’d been talking, he could easily blame it on his frustration with Scott’s stubbornness.

After that, Derek hadn’t seen Tweedledee and Tweedledum for nearly two months.  It wasn’t as if Derek hadn’t been busy.  First with trying to find Boyd and Erica.  He’d eventually found Boyd, and what was left of Erica.  As he’d buried her remains in the preserve, Derek couldn’t help but think she wouldn’t be the last member of his pack he’d put in the ground.  The rest of his time had been devoted to shaping the remains of his motley crew into an actual pack capable of defending themselves.

Derek didn’t want anything more to do with his uncle, but if he was being realistic he was going to need all the help he could get.  He could feel the burning need to avenge his sister burning the back of his throat into ash every time he looked at Peter, but his Uncle had more information on the Alpha pack than he’d been willing to give up so far.  Information Derek wasn’t going to be able to beat out of him, no matter how much he might relish the thought.  Derek might have had a suspicion the Alpha Pack was coming, but his knowledge of them didn’t extend beyond hazy childhood memories of his mother’s stories and what Laura had told him.  Peter had been the cultural expert in their family, often serving as an envoy for the family when larger werewolf politics had invaded their secluded life.

Which was why Derek reigned in his instinctive rage one afternoon when he came in from a run only to be accosted by the smell of his Uncle.  The smell of Peter of lurking about the abandoned train station was too fresh to be anything but the original article.  He walked in to find Peter sitting on the dilapidated couch Isaac had drug in months earlier.  The piece of furniture stunk of numerous owners and a lifetime of hard use, but Derek hadn’t planned on squatting permanently in the abandoned structure.  Then a week had turned into a month and then into three.

“Peter,” Derek acknowledged him as curtly as he could.  “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, nephew of mine.  Can’t I just stop by to see how my only remaining relative is doing?” Peter replied with the faintest hint of a smile.  Derek had found Peter’s dry wit charming as a child, spent far too many hours trying to emulate his sardonic sense of humor.  Now it just seemed sinister. 

Peter cast a cursory glance around the place, “Love what you’ve not done with the place, by the way.  It’s very homeless-chic.”

“Run out of unwilling teenagers to bite or relatives to murder?” Derek bit back in response.  He circled slowly around the room until he was standing in front of where Peter lounged on the couch.

“There’s still just the one.”  Peter examined his nails casually before giving Derek an indecipherable look.  Derek growled lowly in anger, his eyes bleeding red.  If Peter was looking for a fight, Derek was more than willing to accommodate him.

“Speaking of Stiles,” Peter said, pausing for obvious emphasis.  Derek’s growl trailed off in confusion.  He’d assumed Peter was referring to him.  He was obviously missing something.  Judging by the amused expression on Peter’s face, Peter knew it too.  “I was thinking we should offer an olive branch to their little wayward pack and see if we can’t get Stiles to do a little research for us.”

“Stiles doesn’t know anything,” Derek said.

“Not yet, at least.”  Peter paused as Boyd and Issac came wandering into the larger room from the train-car in the corner.  Boyd walked over to lean casually up against a wall behind Derek while Issac came to stand beside him.

“Closing ranks, adorable,” Peter drolled sarcastically.

“What’s your point, Peter,” Derek demanded.

“As I understand it, Scott and Stiles managed to steal a copy of the Hunters’ beastiary.”  Peter paused, clearly looking for confirmation.  Out of the corner of his eye, Derek saw Isaac nodding with a slightly mortified expression.  Derek rolled his eyes; sometimes his betas were idiots.

“So? We have yours,” Derek replied.  The look Peter gave him could only be described as patronizing.

“There’s the rub, dear nephew.  My beastiary was compiled by and for _us_.  If you wanted to negotiate with them, I could be an endless fount of knowledge.  How to arrange a meeting, the appropriate sartorial choices, even act as your envoy,” Peter paused as Derek growled again.  “But of course, I’m assuming by all the training you’ve been doing that you have no intentions of negotiating.”

\--

Desperation might have driven Derek to hiding in Stiles’ room before, but he wasn’t about to try that route again.  The Sheriff still gave him suspicious glances whenever they saw each other in town.  Even if he was sure he could catch Stiles home alone while the Sheriff was working; Beacon Hills was just small enough of a town that neighbors were nosy.  If he started showing up at the Stilinski home, someone would notice soon enough and it would only be a matter of time before it got back to the Sheriff that a former murder suspect was crawling through his son’s window.

So the next day he found himself waiting at the edge of the woods that butted up against the High School.  He checked his phone again to see if Isaac had sent him an update.  The text he’d gotten around noon was still the only notification in his phone, _Stiles in lunch detention, meet after practice_.  The faint sound of voices caused Derek to pocket his phone and step further back into the trees until he spotted Issac, Boyd and Stiles crossing the field in the distance.

“Jesus, will you let me go? I said I’d come with you!” Stiles complained as Issac dragged him along by the arm.

“And you tried to bolt for your car when he let you go before,” Boyd replied calmly, following closely behind.

“Yes, fine, take me to your leader,” Stiles said sarcastically.  “I can’t wait to see what other creepy behavior Peter has been teaching you guys besides dragging people off school property against their will.”  Derek’s eyes narrowed in anger.  If Peter had been harassing Stiles then Derek was going to have a few words with his Uncle.

As the trio of teenagers reached the edge of the field, Derek got his first good look at Stiles.  In the intervening months since Derek had seen him, Stiles had grown out his shorn hair.  The buzz cut that had made him look so impossibly young had been replaced with a short, almost faux-hawk.  Stiles still looked young, but the longer hair brought out the angular lines in his face.  It only made the plushness of his mouth stand out all the more.

Derek cleared his throat and stepped forward, catching the attention of the trio.

“Well, now that you’ve successfully abducted me.  What do you want?” Stiles demanded.  Derek flinched internally at the implicit comparison to Peter’s actions.

“Let him go,” Derek instructed to Isaac.  “You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to.”

“You could have let your henchmen know that before they dragged me off,” Stiles snarked back.  He ripped his arm out of Isaac’s grip and straightened his jacket in a huff.  He ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up and tugging gently on the spikes.  Derek swallowed, trying very hard not to think about the possibilities of pulling on Stiles’ hair suddenly springing to mind.

“I’m here anyway.  Might as well be done with it,” Stiles said as he let go of his hair, leaving it in disarray.

“Do you still have a copy of the beastiary you stole from the Argents?” Derek asked.

“No, I deleted it after 24 hours because I’m a law abiding citizen when it comes to copyright infringement,” Stiles shot back.

“Stiles,” Derek warned, annoyance clear in his tone.

“Yes, of course I still have it. Not that it’s going to be much help, unless you want to try and convince Lydia or Ms. Morell to translate the archaic Latin it’s mostly written in,” Stiles replied.

“I see,” Derek said with disappointment.  Lydia had barely tolerated his presence when Jackson had still been in town and refused point black to be anywhere near Peter.  After Jackson had left, Derek hadn’t even bothered.  Derek didn’t even know who Ms. Morell was, there was no way he’d trust her with something like this.

Stiles must have read his disappointment correctly because after shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, he offered, “Look, I can broach the topic with Lydia tomorrow at school.  If we’re lucky she might give me the time of day.”  Both Boyd and Isaac snickered, clearly picking up on something Derek had missed.

“Okay,” Derek said, feeling like he was losing footing in the conversation rapidly.

“Just,” Stiles started and then paused to tug at his hair in frustration again.  Derek glanced away, pointedly not looking as Stiles’ long fingers curled around his scalp.  “I’ll text you after I’ve talked to her.  If anyone tries to drag me off again tomorrow, I’ll be a lot less talkative.”

“Unlikely,” Derek replied derisively.  It was only after Stiles had started jogging back towards the school parking lot that Derek realized he hadn’t told Stiles _what_ he wanted researched.

\--

Three days later Derek was browsing on Peter’s laptop when his phone chimed from inside his pocket.  He logged out of the financial firm’s website where he’d been checking the status of his investments.  Derek wasn’t very fiscally minded, but Laura had made him learn the basics of money management after they’d put the bulk of their inheritance into a trust and a variety of mutual funds.  He’d hated it at the time, wanting nothing to do with the blood money from his family’s death, but was irrationally glad now that he’d bothered to pay attention.

When Derek checked his phone he saw a text from an unfamiliar number.

_meet @ my house in 20 for updates_

Derek frowned at his phone and sent a reply.

_Who is this?_

He was pretty sure it was Stiles, but better to make sure.  The two replies were almost immediate.

_the fucking toothfairy_

_my house in 20_

Stiles’ car was already in the driveway when Derek drove up fifteen minutes later.  Derek parked his Camaro on the street and walked up the front door.  He rang the doorbell and heard someone inside running down the stairs a moment later.

Stiles wrenched the front door open, only to stare incredulously at Derek.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked.

“Selling girl scout cookies,” Derek replied flatly.

“Oh, he has a sense of humor. Hilarious.  I mean, what are you doing at my front door?” Stiles shot back.  Derek felt a moment of uncertainty; perhaps he had inferred the wrong person from the text messages earlier.

“You said to meet here,” he said gruffly, trying to cover for his confusion.

“Yes, but,” Stiles started but blinked and pulled Derek through the door by his jacket.  “Why are you at my front door?  Mrs. Carson across the street is nosey as fuck and has probably already taken a picture of you and your license plate in order to pass along to my father.”  Stiles shut the front door quickly and peeked cautiously through the curtains of the window next to the door frame.

“I don’t make a habit of crawling through the bedroom windows of teenage boys,” Derek replied defensively.

“Well, yes, when you say it like that, it sounds creeptastic.  Not that this,” Stiles said as he gestured widely to encompass Derek and his front door, “is any less weird.”  Derek just looked at him silently.

“Yes, fine. Consider this a blanket permission to use my window next time so that my neighbors don’t report you to the neighborhood watch, AKA my father.  At least, when I tell you to come over, that is.”

“So should I use the back door when I’m not invited?” Derek asked dryly.  Stiles rolled his eyes in reply and turned to head back up towards his room.  Derek followed silently, taking in the Stilinski house.  There were pictures everywhere.  Of Stiles at various ages, grinning wildly.  Of Stiles and his father; some looking solemn, some vibrant.  There were a few of the pair with a woman who could only be Stiles’ mother.  Derek could see Stiles’ wide, infectious smile mirrored in the face of the woman.  Stiles didn’t look any older than seven or eight in all the pictures containing his mother.  Derek spared a brief second to wonder what had happened to her, if she had left.  Stiles certainly never talked about her.

“I didn’t invite you over to ogle pictures of my dead mom.”  Stiles sharp comment cut into Derek’s thoughts; his tone laced with anger.  Derek blinked, not realizing that he’d stopped to look at the pictures.

“Sorry. I wasn’t-” Derek stopped, at a loss for words.  “You have her smile.”

“That’s what everyone says,” Stiles said, his smile definitely bitter this time.

“At least you still have pictures,” Derek offers, surprised at the responding bitterness in his tone.  He gaze turned back to a small picture hung in the hallway.  Stiles was running happily towards his parents, where his mother was crouched down with a matching smile and wide open arms.  When Derek turned back, Stiles was still looking at him, a conflicted expression on his face.

“Let’s go,” Derek said, his voice rough.  “What did you find out?”  They continued up to Stiles’ room, where Stiles immediately flopped down into the chair in front of his computer.  Derek walked in, uneasily standing in the middle of the room trying to determine if there was another place to sit beside Stiles’ bed.

Stiles motioned towards his bed, “sit. I promise I’ve washed the sheets recently.”

Not recently enough, in Derek’s opinion.  He could smell what Stiles had been doing in that bed.  It smelled of teenage desperation and masturbation.  Derek didn’t need to be sitting, immersed in that smell while trying to hold a conversation with Stiles.

“Stiles,” Derek said instead of replying, “focus.”

“Yeah, fine.  Stand there like a creeper,” Stiles replied flippantly as he swiveled back towards his laptop.  He pulled up a file that looked like the scanned pages of a very old book.

“Is that it?” Derek asked.

“The one and only,” Stiles said.  He grabbed a pen off his desk and began fiddling with it between scribbling in a notebook lying in front of him.

“I can only assume that since it’s three days later and not the next day, that you managed to persuade Lydia to translate it,” Derek said after a few minutes of silence, when he realized Stiles wasn’t going to start speaking.  Stiles looked over his shoulder to shoot Derek a dark look and then stuffed the end of his pen into his mouth before turning back.

“If someone hadn’t shown up early at the front door, I’d have finished this already,” Stiles replied.

Derek closed his eyes and prayed for mindfulness. He wasn’t a religious man, none of his family had been.  It was hard to be when most of the world’s religions viewed you as an abomination; if they acknowledged your possible existence at all.  But the Buddhist idea that suffering was inevitable appealed to him.  If for no other reason that it gave him hope that his existence wasn’t meaningless.  He clung to the hope that one day he might transcend the suffering he had caused.

The sound of scribbling eventually stopped and Derek opened his eyes.  Stiles had finished whatever he was writing and was watching him silently.  Stiles pulled the pen back out of his mouth and asked, “what were you doing?”

“Contemplating nirvana,” Derek replied.  If Stiles laugh was anything to go by, he hadn’t realized just how truthful Derek’s reply had been.  “So?”

“Soooo,” Stiles said.  “Obviously Lydia isn’t going to translate the entire beastiary.  So I’m going to need something more specific for her to focus on.”

“I need information about the Alpha Pack,” Derek supplied.

“Really? I would think that you guys would be all over that.  Intel wise,” Stiles said, swiveling slowly back and forth in his chair.

“Most of our information is of a more diplomatic nature,” Derek admitted grudgingly.

“And you don’t want to negotiate, of course,” Stiles replied sourly.

“Stiles,” Derek bit out in frustration.  He thought about how to explain it quickly in terms Stiles might understand. He didn’t have the time or inclination to explain the nuances of werewolf pack politics to the boy. “Alpha Packs are a lot like a tribunal.  When injustice or a great level of violence breaks out within or between packs they tend to show up.  But negotiating rarely comes out in your favor.”

“So they’re like a werewolf Judge Judy? You might win, but everyone comes out looking like an asshole.”

“Or they might decide to kill us all,” Derek said dryly.

“Yeah, I’m definitely voting against that option.  I’ve translated the index of the beastiary here.  Look this over and tell me which sections you think would be helpful.  I’ll see how many of them I can bribe Lydia into translating,” Stiles said as he shoved the notebook and pen towards Derek.  Derek could smell the traces of saliva on the end of the pen from where Stiles had been chewing on it.

Determinedly ignoring that, Derek took the notes and pen, glancing up briefly to ask, “Bribe? I thought you said you convinced her.”

“I did,” Stiles said darkly, “with bribery.  So much bribery.”  Derek wanted to ask what had brought on the bitterness in Stiles’ tone, but it wasn’t his place.  Instead he concentrated on the list Stiles had made, noting a couple of sections under werewolf lore that would be worth looking into.  When he looked up again, Stiles was watching him intently as his fingers played slowly across his lips.  As Derek glanced up, Stiles tongue darted out quickly to lap at the pads of his fingers.

“Stop that,” Derek said reprovingly.  Stiles smirked, looking positively fox-like for a moment.

“Stop what?” Stiles asked innocently, sucking in his lower lip to chew on it.  Derek immediately realized several things.  First, he was definitely being fucked with.  He’d been so colossally wrong all those times he’d thought Stiles had innocently been fixated on putting something in or around his mouth.  All those times he’d thought Stiles hadn’t been conscious of his actions because his scent and heartbeat hadn’t changed.  Instead he’d just discovered that Stiles was far more calculating than he’d given him credit for.  Second, Stiles was far more dangerous than Derek had given him credit for.  If the boy had been deliberately flirting with him all this time and managed to hide all other signs of his intent, what else could he be hiding or lying about? If anything, the realization made him flush cold with rage; he was no one’s toy to be played with.

Stiles must have seen something in his expression, because his expression turned serious as he said, “Sorry.  I didn’t mea-”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek choked out around the anger threatening to overwhelm him.  “Tell Lydia to look at these first.” He dropped the notes and pen in Stiles’ lap.

With that he turned and did everything but run out of the house.

By the time Derek had driven back to the train depot, his anger had shifted towards cold resignation.  If Stiles was capable of that kind of deception, then Derek had been absolutely correct in refusing to trust him.  It all made sense now.  Of course Derek had found him alluring.  Stiles was calculating and deceptive, all wrapped in a veneer of sarcasm.  Exactly the type of bad decision Derek found himself making again and again.  But Derek knew better now, he did.

Determined to put it out of his mind, Derek threw his car into park and went inside.  As he neared the entrance, he didn’t miss the police cruiser that had turned onto the adjacent street down the block.  He watched silently from inside the doorway as the car rolled slowly down the street past the abandoned building, the sheriff’s office logo gleaming brightly in the afternoon sun.

It was time for Derek to come up with a plan.

\--

The following day, while Boyd and Issac were at school, Derek went to the public library to use their computers.  He spent a few minutes browsing the town’s apartment listings.  The more he looked at potential locations, the more he realized what a terrible idea it was.  Apartments meant neighbors and thin walls.  He’d lost more than one security deposit to unexplainable damage to walls and doors.  If he was serious about helping his betas learn to deal with their transformations that meant a place they could safely stay during the full moon.  In Houston and New York, a room full of chains had been easier to explain to a nosey Super coming in to do maintenance.  In a town like Beacon Hills, shit like that could cause talk.  Visibility was the last thing Derek needed right now.

Derek closed the tabs he’d had open and tried looking up real estate listings instead.  All of the houses he saw for sale were near the center of the town.  The choices were almost as bad as the apartments.  Laura had loved living in cities; she’d always said she liked the thrum of humanity that surrounded them.  Derek had never cared for it, the constant crush and noise of people had only served to remind him just how different he was.

Derek finally found a listing that looked promising, a ranch style house on one of the two-lane highways leading out of town.  As he clicked on the link to see more details, an advertisement for an entirely different property popped up over the screen.  It sparked an idea.  Derek closed the real estate’s page and logged out of the computer.

As Derek left the library he felt the grim satisfaction of a plan coming together.  It certainly wasn’t his first choice, but it was the best of the options before him.

When he drove back to the train station, Derek made sure to leave his Camaro parked a couple of blocks away.  If the Sheriff or any of his men were keeping tabs on him, it would be best to keep them from realizing he was squatting in the abandoned building.  As Derek approached on foot, he could hear voices inside.  From the sound of it, Isaac was already back from school and Peter was lurking about again.

“Seriously, man.  You’ve got to stop being such a dick all the time,” Isaac’s voice filtered quietly through one the broken windows.  Peter’s murmured reply was indecipherable.

Derek threw open the door with more force than was strictly necessary.  It wasn’t as if the other two werewolves were going to miss his arrival.

“Such a sense of drama,” Peter said, fluidly unfolding from his spot on the couch.  “No need to be such a Queen.  Rehashing the same old family drama is off the menu today, I’m afraid. Young Isaac here has news for us.”  His tone was positively gleeful.  Derek was only surprised that Peter hadn’t steepled his hands together to fully complete his sociopath image. 

“I overheard Scott and Stiles talking at lunch today,” Isaac offered when Derek turned towards him.  Derek kept his desire to sigh in check, he should have known Stiles wouldn’t keep quiet.  “The police found a body in the preserve this morning.”

“…in the preserve?” Derek asked slowly, quickly trying to reorient away from the conversation he’d been expecting to have.

“Not just anywhere in the preserve,” Peter offered cheerfully.

“Where?” Derek asked, although he suspected he already knew the answer.

“Only a quarter of a mile from our old stomping grounds,” Peter jumped in before Isaac could respond.

“We’ll head over there once it’s dark and check it out once the police leave,” Derek replied.  “You’re free to be anywhere else, Peter.”

“And miss this opportunity for pack bonding?” Peter asked with all the appearance of affronted sincerity.

\--

Derek wished he could say it was a surprise when he caught the lingering scent of Scott and Stiles as they approached the edge of the Hale property.

“Looks like the Scooby Gang is here too,” Peter said, obviously catching the same scent.

“The what?” Isaac asked in confusion.

“Really?  I’d have thought a Buffy reference would be a little below your age range, Peter,” a voice from the trees muttered.  Stiles stepped from behind a tree in the distance a moment later.

“You’d be surprised what’s in my age range,” Peter called back.

“Ugh, I walked right into that,” Stiles said in obvious disgust.  Scott and Lydia emerged from a denser section of the forest a moment later.

“Yo, Stiles, your dad is finally gone, we should head over there before it gets too dark for you guys to see,” Scott called, obviously not having noticed Derek and his pack yet.  Derek couldn’t contain his sigh this time; Scott was really going to have to work on his situational awareness if he wanted to survive as an alpha.

Derek could see the exact moment that Lydia noticed them.  She froze, her eyes widening minutely before narrowing in anger.  Derek saw her reach slowly into her jacket to retrieve a small canister.

“Great, man,” Stiles said.  “We should maybe deal with them first.”  He jerked his head in Derek’s direction.

“What are you doing here?” Scott demanded, his eyes narrowing.

“Dead body in the woods, suspicious circumstances.  I can’t imagine why that might be of interest to us,” Peter drolled.

“I swear to God, Hale,” Lydia started.  Derek was surprised at how little the shaking in her voice came through. “If you’ve killed someone else.”

“Someone else?  Come now, sweet Lydia.  You more than anyone should know that I haven’t harmed anyone since I returned,” Peter said with a wide smile, “at least not permanently.”  The hiss of air as Lydia’s breath rushed out of her was the only warning before Lydia was lunging forward.  Stiles darted to the side, grabbing Lydia’s arm and dragging her back.  He murmured something indistinct in her ear as he eased her back to stand behind Scott.

“Soon,” Lydia replied darkly.  “Don’t think you’ll stop me next time, Stilinksi.”

“We both know I’ll be helping,” Stiles said with a grim grin that matched the anger in Lydia’s expression.

“They’re plotting against us, how adorable,” Peter said as he turned to smile at Derek.

“Just you, Peter.  Just you,” Derek replied darkly, hoping desperately that was the case.  He might need Peter’s help to hold off the Alphas, but he had no desire to be drawn into whatever trouble Peter was so clearly willing to make for himself.

“You and I both know you don’t believe that,” Peter said.

“Weren’t we here to investigate?”  Isaac asked after a moment.

“This would probably go faster if we worked together,” Derek said.  It might also give him a chance to try and talk to Scott.  If he could convince the boy to work with them, even tentatively, it helped their chances against the Alphas.

“No, we can’t trust you,” Scott said, frowning.  Derek growled in annoyance.  Why did he keep trying to help the boy?

“I wasn’t the one who betrayed us to the Argents,” Derek bit back in response.

“I had a plan and it worked, didn’t it?” Scott yelled back, his body starting to transform as anger clouded his face.

“Yeah, great plan!  Instead of telling us, or even asking for help; instead you used me,” Derek replied angrily.  If Scott wanted to be a stubborn little shit about this, then Derek could play that game.

“Hey, heeeey!” Stiles cut in.  He waved his hands around jerkily, as if to diffuse the sudden tension in the air.  “Working together is probably the best plan we’ve got right now.  We could pair off.  We’ll cover more area that way and if someone finds something, both groups will know,” Stiles suggested.

“An excellent idea.”  Peter clapped his hands together in apparent excitement.  “If we’re pairing off, I’ll take Stiles.”

There was a cacophony of protests as everyone else voiced their objection.  The flaw in Stiles’s suggestion became immediately apparent to Derek: someone was going to have to work with Peter.  He couldn’t be trusted by himself, but he couldn’t really be trusted _with_ anyone either.

“Scott, why don’t you go with Peter,” Derek said.  Of the three of them, Scott was the only one Derek was reasonably sure Peter wouldn’t try anything with.  And if he did, at least Scott was more physically capable of defending himself.

“I’m going with Isaac,” Lydia declared immediately.  Derek could see the faintest hint of a blush on Isaac’s face as he smiled.  _This is what I get for involving myself with teenagers_ , Derek thought derisively.

Which left Stiles.  With Derek.  Why had he suggested working together?

They’d made it less than 100 feet after everyone split off in different directions before Stiles spoke up.

“Hey, so about last-” he started.

“No,” Derek interrupted.  He wasn’t interested in ever having this conversation, much less within hearing distance of Peter.

“What? C’mon, man, you’ve got to-” Stiles tried again.

“I said no,” Derek cut him off again.

“Derek,” Stiles said plaintively.

“No,” Derek said again, turning to glare at Stiles.  He looked over pointedly in the directon Peter and Scott had gone.

“At least. Not now,” Derek conceded.  Stiles followed Derek’s look and his eyes widened in realization.

“Right. Later.  Definitely, later.”

Derek turned and continued walking in the direction they’d set off in.  Not more than a few minutes later he caught the hint of an unfamiliar scent.  He turned slowly, trying to track the direction it was coming from.

“Another werewolf has definitely been here,” Derek said, trying desperately not to be too relieved to have a change of subject.  The presence of an unknown werewolf could only be bad news, even if it did provide for a convenient distraction from Stiles’ desire to talk about what had happened.

“You recognize him?” Stiles asked as he scrambled after Derek.

“Her,” Derek corrected after a moment.  Derek turned again, finally catching the path of the scent and trying to decide which direction to follow.

“Way to be a sexist jerk, Stiles,” Stiles muttered softly to himself.  Derek snorted in response.

“Where did they find the body?  Which direction?” Derek asked.

“Uhh, that way,” Stiles said as he pointed vaguely east.  From what Derek could tell the scent followed an East-West path.  Derek turned and started following the trail in the opposite direction.

“Wait a sec,” Stiles said as he stopped walking.  “Let me just text the others that we found something.”

“Not yet,” Derek said, not stopping.

“Why? So you can knock me out and pursue it on your own?” Stiles asked acidly.  “Weren’t you the one who suggested we work together?”

“No, you idiot.  Because we haven’t found anything yet,” Derek said, stopping to turn and glare at Stiles as he caught up to Derek again.

“Pretty sure the presence of a shewolf counts as finding something,” Stiles said dryly.

“We haven’t actually found her yet.”  Derek leapt over the fallen trunk of a huge tree in their path.  He watched silently as Stiles struggled to climb over.

“Oh, even better.  So you want me to wait until we’ve got a hostile werewolf trying to disembowel me.  That’s a _fantastic_ plan,” Stiles panted after he dropped down on the other side of the fallen tree.

“That’s not going to happen,” Derek said.  _I won’t let it_ , he thought silently.

“So you’re going to protect my frail human body?” Stiles asked, his tone speaking volumes.

“Has Peter been bothering you recently?” Derek asked instead of replying to Stiles’ question.

“You mean aside from becoming a pretty solid fixture in all of my nightmares?”  Stiles replied sarcastically.  “Why do you ask?  Have you suddenly developed an interest in trying to reign in the kidnapping and torture habits of your uncle?”

“What?  When did that happen?” Derek demanded.  He stopped again to turn and stare at Stiles in faint horror.  He knew he’d been missing something in his conversation with Peter earlier, but he’d hopped it hadn’t been something this bad.

“When you were missing and you know,” Stiles said, gesturing back in the direction of the Hale house.  “He tried to turn Lydia and kidnapped me in order to try and find you and Scott. You knew about that.”

“I didn’t know that he kidnapped you,” Derek said quietly.

“Well, he did.  And unlike Lydia, he actually asked for my permission before he offered to turn me,” Stiles said sourly.  He kicked at the dirt, looking anywhere but towards Derek.

“He _offered_ you the bite,” Derek said incredulously.  Peter hadn’t seemed particularly concerned with getting anyone’s consent since he’d woken from his coma.

“Right?”  Stiles snorted derisively.  “Believe me; I’m as surprised as you are.  Super glad I had the option of saying no, but definitely confused that he bothered to ask first.”  Derek had no idea why Peter had offered Stiles a choice.  But if Peter was concerned with getting Stiles’ willing consent it didn’t bode well for the boy, or Peter’s motives.

“But nothing recently?” Derek asked, unaccountably needing to make sure.  The look Stiles gave him in response seemed to say, _that wasn’t enough already?_   It wasn’t a sentiment Derek particularly disagreed with.

They continued on in silence, making their way through the forest.  Derek eventually followed his nose to a break in the treeline.  He frowned as the scent disappeared into a myriad of other smells.  They were at the road that bordered the edge of the preserve.

“OK, so which way?” Stiles asked as Derek came to a stop just beyond the trees.  He pulled out his phone and started typing away.

“I don’t know,” Derek admitted grudgingly.  “I can’t single out her scent from everything else on this road.”  There was a different smell just at the edge of Derek’s sense though, something that sent a cold chill down his spine.  Stiles’s phone chirped a second later.

“Lydia wants to know if we found one of the Alphas,” Stiles said, reading from his phone.

“I don’t know,” Derek said again.  Stiles glanced up to give him a skeptical look.  “That’s not the kind of thing you can automatically smell.”

“But you knew Peter’s smell when he was the Alpha,” Stiles pointed out.  Derek closed his eyes, willing the memory of Laura’s body away.

“Yes, but it wasn’t like you’re thinking.  His scent didn’t have some Alpha stamp on it.  I smelled him when I,” Derek stopped, unable to finish that sentence.  Instead of watching Stiles’s reaction, he turned to crouch down at the edge of the pavement.  The faint smell that had Derek’s hair standing on end was stronger here.

“Oh,” Stiles said softly.  Derek closed his eyes again, trying to concentrate on the familiar smell, rather than the pity he was sure was written all over Stiles’s face.  He sucked in a surprised breath when he finally placed the smell.  During the time they’d spent in New York, Derek and Laura had only ventured into Manhattan a few times.  The third time, they’d ended up in Chinatown by accident.  It had only taken a few minutes and less than a block before the smell of something similar to wolf’s bane had assaulted them, wafting out of various herbal shops.  They’d turned around and never gone back.

 “I’m sorry,” Stiles said suddenly, filling the silence that had stretched between them.

“Stiles,” Derek started warningly.

“Jeebus, will you just let me apologize?” Stiles demanded.  “I wasn’t doing it deliberately.”  Derek turned back around to glare at him silently; there was no way he believed that.

“Okay, yes I was,” Stiles amended sheepishly, “but I really thought you were into it.  I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“We have bigger problems right now, Stiles,” Derek said instead the half a dozen replies that were crowding the back of his throat.  “There’s an unknown werewolf killing people, possibly one of the Alpha pack.  And someone with wolf’s bane has been here too.”

“Oh, _fuck_.  Hunters?”  Stiles asked.

“Do you know a lot of werewolves who like to carry wolfsbane with them?” Derek asked dryly.


	2. The Transitive Value of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Derek goes looking for a new home and Sheriff Stilinski is a sly son of a bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know only what google was able to tell me about real estate zoning regulations. If there are any factual errors, please feel free to correct me.

Being an Alpha was nothing like Derek had expected.  When he’d been a child, he’d fantasized about becoming the Alpha of the Hale family.  The idea of it had been alluring; all that power, being able to tell his siblings what to do.  He’d watched with jealousy each time Laura and their older brother had left with their mother for training.  He’d bitten his lip in silent bitterness each time Laura had returned, only to boss him around, teasing that one day he’d have to submit to her.

The reality of it didn’t quite hold up to his childhood fantasies.  Beyond even the circumstance of his family; the banality of being Alpha was kind of a drag.  As a kid, Derek had imagined running free through the forest, returning occasionally to issue edicts to his brother and sisters.  Instead, he found himself desperately trying to train three young werewolves so that they might survive to see their 20s.  The least of which was trying to convince Scott he needed the training in the first place.  Trying to mediate their bickering was perhaps his least favorite job.

“You guys can do whatever you want.  If this lady is killing people, then we need to find her and convince her to stop,” Scott said in a huff.  He, Stiles and Lydia were standing in a group near the entrance to the train station.

“And how are you going to do that?” Peter asked snidely.  Derek could tell his patience was starting to wear thin.  “You really think if you ask her nicely she’ll have a sudden change of heart and stop?”

“We should at least try to figure out what’s going on before we decide to kill her,” Issac cut in defensively.  Derek had been glad to see Isaac’s burgeoning friendship with Scott.  If he couldn’t reach Scott, he’d held out hope that Isaac might. 

“Oh, dissention in the ranks,” Peter said with clear enjoyment.  Stiles stepped forward, as if he was about to argue the point.  Derek roared, letting his face transform and his eyes flash more to make his point than out of genuine anger.

“Shut up, all of you!” he snapped.  “We can’t track her, all of this bickering is irrelevant.  It doesn’t matter if she’s part of the Alpha Pack.  If hunters found her, who do you think they’re going to come looking for next?  And if they didn’t, where do you think they’re going to start looking?”

“We’re not part of your pack, Derek,” Scott said.  He was frowning, arms crossed and practically radiating disapproval.  “They’re not going to come after us.”  Derek snarled with genuine annoyance this time, turning his red glare on the younger man.

“Do you really think they’re going to draw such a convenient distinction, if the hunters decide we’re a threat?  The Argents already know you’re a werewolf, Scott.  They know you’re young and new.  Whose door do you think they’re going to be knocking on every time there’s suspicious activity?”  Derek demanded.

“Allison wouldn’t do that,” Scott said with conviction.  Stiles scoffed, uncrossing his arms to shove them into his coat pockets.

“Dude.  She’s _already_ done that,” Stiles replied.

“She tried to kill me and Erica,” Boyd said quietly, halting whatever response Scott had been about to make.  “However you feel about her, man, she’s changed.  Her father begged her to stop when they found us, but she wouldn’t listen.”  Scott looked away, his expression mutinous.

\--

It took a couple of days playing phone tag with the real estate agent Derek called up, but he finally managed to arrange a showing of the building that had caught his eye at the library.  It was a dual zoned building, with a huge loft on the top floor above an old mechanic’s shop that had long since gone out of business.  It was closer to the center of town than Derek had been looking for, but the building was surrounded on three sides by a fenced in parking lot that had once served as the impound lot for the Beacon County Sheriff’s office.

 The real estate agent he met at the garage’s entrance had been more than happy to let Derek in and look around.  He’d mentioned the property had been on the market for some time, what with the previous owner retiring a couple years before.  The garage itself was in decent shape, although obviously neglected.  Most of the major machinery inside had been cleared out.  Auctioned off after the building hadn’t sold, the agent informed him.  They took the industrial lift up the second floor.  Derek could hear the gears of the elevator grinding faintly as the slowly ascended.  If he decided to buy this place, he was going to need to do some maintenance.  The elevator was obviously quite old; time and disuse hadn’t been kind either.

As the real estate agent pulled up the wooden grate, Derek took in the plain brick wall immediate in front of them.  A plain wooden door was set right in the middle.

“Seems odd to have a wall and a door at the top of the elevator,” Derek said as they stepped out onto the small area between the lift and the door.  Derek didn’t particularly mind, one more wall and a door was just another layer of security between him and anything coming for him.  The other man grimaced.

“Well, it used to be completely open.  But after Mr. Morales moved up to Oregon to be with his kids, we had a couple of problems with squatters,” he replied.  Derek noted the way his heart skipped a beat towards the end, but he didn’t need werewolf hearing to figure out the man wasn’t telling him the whole truth.  You didn’t brick up an entrance because of a couple of squatters.

“Sqatters,” Derek replied flatly, not bothering to hide his incredulity.  The agent pulled his massive key ring out and fiddled with the lock.

“For a couple of months this was a popular place for kids to get drunk in.  You’ll understand when you see inside.  One of them fell down the elevator shaft about a year ago,” the man said.  He pulled the door open and hastily added, “but no one died!  The cops just told us to close up some of the open entrances and they made sure to patrol the area for a couple of weeks until the kids moved on to somewhere else.”

“You’ve got to see this loft.  Mr. Morales did quite a job fixing it up before he retired,” he continued as he pulled open the door.  Derek stepped through the open doorway and looked up.  The place was stunning.  Punctuated by dark wooden beams, the loft had a high ceiling and large windows along the Eastern wall.  There was no shortage of light streaming into the large room; both from the windows and the huge skylight in the middle of the ceiling.  A spiral staircase in the far corner lead up to a platform about halfway up wall.  It looked large enough to comfortably fit a bed; perfect for maintaining some privacy when his pack came over and strategic high ground should anyone try to attack him here.

In the opposite corner was a basic kitchen.  Oven, stainless steel cabinets, sink, and a fridge that Derek suspected he was going to have to replace if the smell emanating from it was anything to by.  But compared to the camping stove he’d been using for the past several months, it looked downright homey.  The floors were covered in a gray slate looking tile, giving the entire place an industrial but rustic look.

The place smelled like it hadn’t been lived in for quite some time.  Despite his nervous behavior, it seemed like the real estate agent had been telling the truth about the squatters not really being a problem.  Derek walked slowly over to the large Eastern windows, looking out onto the view of Beacon Hills.  From his vantage point, Derek could easily see down the road leading out of town towards the preserve.  It was only a few short blocks to the edge of the city, where the forest ran almost up to the edge of the road.

“I like it,” Derek declared as the real estate agent came up behind him to hover quietly.  “I’ll call my bank and see about putting an offer in.”  The man blinked, clearly expecting Derek to try and haggle some first.

“Of course,” he replied cheerfully enough.  “You’ll need to come up with some kind of business plan for the garage below when you apply for a loan.  This is a dual zone property, so unfortunately you can’t just purchase the residential area.”

“That won’t be a problem, I’m purchasing it outright,” Derek said with a sharp smile.  “For thirty thousand less than asking price.”

“Really?” the man asked indulgently, chuckling as if Derek had told a joke.

“Of course.  Like you said, this place has been on the market for over a year.  I’m sure Mr. Morales is desperate to sell at this point.”

It wasn’t until they were walking back out of the first floor that Derek caught the unfamiliar scent of an unknown werewolf again.  He smiled broadly, turning to shake hands with the real estate agent as his eyes swept the surrounding area.

“Thank you again, Mr…” Derek trailed off as he caught sight of a woman crouched on the roof above them.

“Mr. Wilkenson,” the man replied.  “Here’s my card.  Call me after you’ve talked to your bank.”  His tone of voice made it clear he didn’t expect to hear from Derek again.

“Right, Mr. Wilkenson,” Derek said, forcing himself to glance back towards the other man instead of staring up at the werewolf above them.  “I think I’m going to take a walk around the outside part of the property.  Try and get a feel for the place.  If you don’t mind.”

“Of course, Mr. Hale,” Mr. Wilkenson said indulgently.  He waved as he walked back towards his car parked out on the street.  Derek turned to walk slowly along the fenced perimeter of the property, making sure to keep the woman above him in sight.  It was only when Mr. Wilkenson’s car drove off down the block that Derek let himself turn fully towards the other werewolf and growl lowly.  The woman whined softly in response before turning to leap of the edge of the building, around the corner from where Derek was standing.  Derek ran around the corner, only to find her curled up on the ground as her leg slowly unbent from its unnatural angle.

“Please, don’t kill me,” the woman whined.  “I need your help.”  She turned, slowly clambering to her feet as her eyes flashed a brilliant blue.  Her voice carried a faint accent that Derek couldn’t place.

“Why should I help an omega who’s spilled human blood?” Derek asked.  The woman winced; her dark, narrow eyes disappearing as her face contorted.  Straightening up, the woman bent forward slowly from the waist until her head dipped forward and her dark, roughly cropped hair obscured her face.

“Please, I did not want to kill anyone,” she said, desperation clear in her voice.  “My name is Goh Tzu Oon and hunters have my children.”  Derek growled and Oon flinched in response, her body seemingly curling in on itself.

“If you are working for hunters, then how do I know they haven’t sent you here to lure me into a trap?” Derek asked, forcibly checking his anger.  Oon straightened back up from her bow, only to cross her arms protectively across her chest.

“Please,” she begged again.  “They want to frame you for the murders they will force me to do.  They will not bother with traps.”

“Where are they hiding?” Derek asked.

“In a house, across the city.  I am not sure how to describe where it is.  You must find a way to draw them out.”  Oon’s hand were clutching convulsively around her upper arms, nervousness radiating off her in waves.

“So show me where they are,” Derek demanded.

“I can’t.  They are keeping my children are in there.  They will kill them if they think I am helping you,” she said plaintively.  Derek heard a car backfire from several blocks away, he paid it no mind.  Oon, on the other hand, startled badly, her facing going deathly pale as she froze.  “I have been away too long, they will think something is amiss.  Please, you must help me.”  With that, the young woman leapt backwards, vaulting over the chain link fence behind her.  She pivoted gracefully on the top of the fence, turning to jump down into the alleyway behind the property and dart off.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Derek jumped to climb over the fence as well.  In the mere seconds it had taken him to cross the metal partition, the woman had disappeared between the neighboring buildings.  Derek followed her scent until it trailed off at a busy intersection on a nearby block.  Turning around to trudge back towards his car, Derek began to consider his options.

Goh Tsu Oon’s story wasn’t completely implausible.  Derek remembered the bedtime tales his parents had told him and his siblings.  At the time, stories about hunters kidnapping vulnerable families and using them as leverage against each other had seemed fantastical.  Like something made up to make werewolf children properly fear hunters, more than something that had ever truly happened.  But that had been before a hunter had seduced him and burned his family alive.  These days Derek didn’t put a whole lot of limits on the depravity and evil he thought hunters might be capable of.

So wrapped up in his own thoughts, it wasn’t until Derek was unlocking the door to his Camaro that he noticed the patrol car parked across the street.  As if on cue, the driver’s door opened and the Sheriff stepped stiffly out of the vehicle.  For a brief moment, Derek considered getting into his car and driving off.  But the Sheriff had already nodded in his direction as he slowly ambled across the street.

“Mr. Hale,” he said cordially enough that Derek almost missed the calculating look in his eyes.

“Sheriff,” Derek responded, closing the door to his car and turning towards the man fully.

“What are you doing out here?” Mr. Stilinski asked, nodding his head slightly in the direction of the building Derek had just been touring.  “Looking at property?”

“Well, I’m going to need someplace to live, if I’m going to move back here,” Derek said, consciously refraining from crossing his arms protectively.  The Sheriff made him nervous.  While there was no doubt in Derek’s mind he could overpower the man if it came to that; it wasn’t as if Derek would just knock the man unconscious and run off.  He was Stiles’ father and the top law enforcement officer in the county.  Something like that would have repercussions and make living below the radar significantly more difficult.

“Glad to hear it,” he replied cheerfully, even if literally nothing else about his demeanor suggested he meant it.  They both paused, regarding each other silently for a moment.

“Is there something I can help you with, Sheriff?” Derek finally asked, when it became apparent the man wasn’t going to say anything else.

“Indeed there is,” the Sheriff replied with a faint smile.  “Funnily enough, one of my neighbors reported seeing you over at my house a couple of days ago.  She seemed quite convinced that you’d spent some time there.  While my son was home alone.”  Derek swallowed but didn’t say anything.

“Now, I figured, there’s no way you were there to see my son.  You must have been looking for me,” the Sheriff continued.  “So I figured I’d stop by and see what you wanted.  Only, oddly enough, you don’t seem to have a permanent address.”

“That’s why I’m looking to buy,” Derek offered.

“Indeed,” the Sheriff said after a long pause.  “So what can I help you with, son?”

“I, uh,” Derek floundered.  He’d always been a terrible liar, according to Laura.  He’d never seen the point in trying, between a family that could sniff out any attempts at deception and the ability to knock anyone else who might ask out.  “I was actually there to talk to Stiles.”  Derek fought the urge to grimace, he hadn’t meant to admit that, but there was nothing he could think of that might have given him a legitimate reason to seek the Sheriff out at home.

“Really,” the Sheriff drawled, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes, I wanted to talk to him about Isaac,” Derek tried desperately with the first thing that came to mind.

“Isaac Lahey?”  The congenial tone in the Sheriff’s voice evaporated.

“He was, is, a family friend,” Derek corrected himself, trying to think a plausible excuse.  “I’ve been helping him get back on his feet.  But I’ve had some trouble getting through to him.  Stiles and Scott are his classmates, I thought Stiles might be able to help me.”  Derek swallowed, hoping desperately that the Sheriff didn’t smell his bullshit from a mile off.

“You mean after he lost his family and was accused of murder?” the Sheriff asked.

“Yes,” Derek replied uncertainly.  If anything, the sharpness in the Sheriff’s expression softened slightly.

“Why don’t you and Isaac come over for dinner tonight then,” the Sheriff said, the fake cheerfulness of his tone coming back in full force.  “Between the three of us I’m sure we can get Mr. Lahey to open up.”

“I don’t,” Derek started to reply, only to be cut off.

“Dinner is a 6:30,” the Sheriff said.  He turned without waiting for a response and walked back towards his patrol car.  Derek opened his car door, sinking down into the driver’s seat of the Camaro.  He pulled out his phone and contemplated it blankly.  What the hell had he just gotten himself into?

\--

Derek had just finished explaining the situation to Isaac when his phone started buzzing.

“So basically, the Sheriff scares the shit out of you and you couldn’t think of a better excuse,” Boyd said around a deep laugh.

“Sounds about right,” Isaac agreed.  They were collapsed together on the dilapidated couch in the abandoned train station.  Derek turned from where he stood in front of them to look at his phone. There were a couple of text messages from Stiles.

_WTF did u tell my dad?_

_why is he talking abt dinner w/ u and Isaac?_

Derek sighed and typed out a reply, _he wanted to know why I was at your house_.

_and u couldn’t think of a better lie????_

_Some of us don’t make a habit of having lying constantly_ , Derek wrote back.

_Rite, u just hit ppl over the head w/ car parts when they get 2 nosey._

Derek frowned.  He’d never hit Stiles with anyone’s car parts.


End file.
